The Trouble with Nifflers
by idearlylovealaugh
Summary: A week after moving in together, the atmosphere at Ron and Hermione's new flat is still awkward. Luckily, there's nothing like a niffler to break the ice.


Disclaimer: Still very much not JKR. Just a person who thinks the word "niffler" is great.

"That'll be £13.50."

Hermione removed the appropriate muggle denominations from her purse and handed them over to the cashier, thanking her politely as she hoisted the heavy bag that contained the ingredients for the elaborate dinner she had planned for the night. Making her way out of the shop, she glanced at her wristwatch and realized that Ron would most probably already be home. She grimaced slightly and guiltily decided to walk the fifteen minutes to their new flat rather than apparate.

Living together had been her idea, but she was starting to think it was an "invite McLaggen to the Slug Club party"-level idea and not so much a "start a dark arts defense club" winner. It had only been a week, but it was just so _awkward_. Which was strange, because most of the unease in the way they treated each other had disappeared once they had finally gotten together on that fateful day of the battle. She had honestly expected more growing pains in the beginning of the relationship, but with everything else going on at the time, she supposed they didn't really have the _luxury_ of being awkward around each other. They needed each other and leaned on each other and everything had felt surprisingly natural. But cohabitation had apparently brought it back with a vengeance.

Ron seemed bound and determined to be the perfect flatmate, obsessively picking up anything that could remotely be described as clutter.Last night she had gone through three different water glasses, as Ron kept whisking away her glass to wash within seconds of her setting in down. And she would never, ever have predicted that she would miss something she had once found as disgusting as Ron's table manners, but he had gone so far in the other direction that dinner felt as stiff and formal as tea at Buckingham Palace. Hermione had just started her new job at the Ministry after finishing her belated seventh year at Hogwarts and the experience, while thrilling, had also been pretty stressful. She just wanted to go home and _relax_ with the man she loved, the person that usually made her feel the most like herself. Instead it was like Ron had been replaced with a strange, über-gentlemanly version of himself and whatever Hermione might have thought in the past about Ron benefiting from some refinement, she was dead certain now that it was _not_ an improvement.

His gentlemanly impulses were apparently carrying over into the bedroom as well, much to her consternation. Sure, they had christened the place that first night, but since then - nothing. At bedtime she got a perfectly lovely, if somewhat restrained (for Ron) kiss and a determinedly appropriate cuddle, hands kept strictly in "safe" territory. Frankly she wasn't sure if it was making her feel more insecure or frustrated. Not that she was some kind of sex fiend, but she wasn't going to be ashamed of wanting to be intimate with her boyfriend in their own flat, where they finally had some privacy from his innumerable family members - who seemed to multiply like garden gnomes and pop up out of nowhere nearly as often!

In what seemed like no time at all, Hermione found herself in front of a squat, somewhat dilapidated building that they now called home. Steeling herself for another too-polite evening, she hiked the strap of her empty work satchel higher on her shoulder and started climbing the stairs to their third floor walk-up. Her day had been a grueling one and she wasn't particularly looking forward to making the dinner she had planned for tonight, although she was determined to get it right. So preoccupied was she with the steps for a soufflé that she failed to notice several loud thuds and a muffled yell coming from her flat until she was practically at the door. She fumbled with the key for a moment as alarm shot through her, hastily tapping the knob with her wand as she removed the wards and quickly shoving open the door to find utter, total chaos.

The cushions from their dumpy sofa had been ripped apart, stuffing strewn across the floor like drifts of snow. Their one "guest" chair was upended, leaning at an angle against the half-empty bookshelf. Several potted plants were lying on their sides next to haphazard heaps of books and picture frames. And routing around amidst all of the wrecked furniture, personal effects and potting soil were a seemingly infinite number of quick-moving, furry, black bodies.

A mere second after Hermione had opened the door - long enough to take in the scene in her living room and feel the beginnings of fear and panic set it - Ron hurtled out of the kitchen clutching a dark, wriggling ball of fur, his wand, and what looked to be her grandmother's Waterford Crystal vase.

"Ron!" she shrieked. "What's..."

"NIFFLERS!" he bellowed, dropping the creature in a relatively small cardboard box on the ground and slamming the lid. "DON'T JUST STAND THERE, LEND A HAND!"

The next thirty minutes were spent in genuine hard work as they rounded up roughly three dozen nifflers from every corner of their flat. The amount of destruction the small creatures had managed to wreak was truly astonishing. Apparently, finding very little in the way of shiny, valuable objects - much less gold - in the flat had only encouraged the determined beasts to redouble their efforts. The niffler she had found rooting around in her underwear drawer and wearing a fetching pair of orange knickers on its head was particularly tenacious. Hermione quickly realized that the box in the lounge had been modified with an undetectable enlargement charm as they dropped niffler after niffler into its depths. Ron seemed to have taken the guarding of her grandmother's vase personally, clutching it protectively to his body with one hand as he immobilized nifflers with the wand in the other. 

"I think that's the last of the ruddy things," Ron finally said, as he unloaded an armful of squirming nifflers into the box and closed it.

Hermione let out a deep breath and leaned back against the wall, sliding down to sit on a rare clear spot on the floor. Ron dropped down beside her, setting the miraculously preserved vase next to him with a thunk. She gazed around to survey the damage. Everywhere she looked she saw the ruin that the nifflers had made of the flat that Ron had spent the week keeping meticulously tidy. She thought about how almost obsessive he had been about picking up after himself, and how he had concentrated so hard on not spilling a drop of his tea on the furniture, and the wild look in his eye as he had burst into the lounge waving around the offending creature… Suddenly she couldn't contain the emotion bubbling up inside her. She rested her head and forearms on her knees as her shoulders started to shake.

Ron looked at her in alarm, but before he could put a comforting arm around her she straightened up against the wall, tears running down her face and arms wrapped around her stomach as she convulsed with silent laughter. Ron looked at her as if she was crazy, but soon let out a few involuntary chuckles of his own. Within moments they were both leaning against each other gasping with laughter, overcome with the absurdity of the last half hour.

"When I heard all the noises, I thought - hee hee - and then your face when you ran in here..." she hiccupped, wiping away a few tears. "Oh, you should have seen it!"

"All right, all right," he snorted good-naturedly.

"Whatever happened? How on earth did they get in here?" she asked when their laughter had finally begun to subside.

His ears began to flush red. "Well, the box came through the floo, and I know, I know - I probably shouldn't have opened it," he explained in embarrassment, rubbing the back on his neck. "But you know my family's the only one with this floo address, and the note on the top was in mum's handwriting, and, well, I guess I thought it might be..."

"Food," Hermione finished for him, grinning at him affectionately.

"And before I knew it, the bloody things were everywhere, tearing everything apart," he grumbled, gesticulating helplessly at the mayhem around them.

Hermione leaned over and grabbed the note off the box, examining it. _A little housewarming gift for you two, with love_ curled across the parchment in Molly Weasley's handwriting. "Somehow I don't think this came from your mother."

"You think?" Ron retorted. "I'm going to _kill_ George the next time I see him."

He let his head drop back against the wall. "I'm really sorry about the mess," he said, turning his head to look down at her. "You should go take a bath or something, I'll get it all cleaned up."

"Ron, no!" Hermione answered, grabbing his hand. "We'll both set it right."

"It's OK, Hermione, I can do it," he countered earnestly.

"I know you _can_ , you just don't have to," she replied. She paused, then decided to just plunge on. "Ron, I really appreciate how much you've been doing around the flat, but I don't want you to feel like you have to be someone you're not. I'm not just going to pick up and move out because you've left some socks on the floor. It was my idea to live together, remember?" she added.

"I know!" he said, almost defensively. "I just didn't want you to change your mind," he added in a quieter voice.

"I'm not going to, trust me," she said, looking into his eyes. Her words earned her a warm smile.

"You know," he remarked after a moment, " _you_ don't have to keep cooking for us every night. I can help - or I can at least call for takeaway."

She laughed. "OK, point taken."

"And after dinner your hands keep fidgeting like they're itching to hold a quill," he continued, looking at her shrewdly. "I know you'll need to bring work home sometimes, I kind of figured that was part of the deal." Hermione felt her face warm a bit. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at the smug look on his face. "Yes, I suppose you are. I do feel a little overwhelmed with all the work in my new position, and I probably would feel better if I was able to accomplish some of it here. I just didn't want you to feel like I was neglecting you already," she explained seriously.

" _'Already'_? What, were you planning to eventually?" he teased, knocking his knee against hers.

"No, but _speaking_ of neglecting," she said exaggeratedly, bumping him back with her shoulder. "I had rather thought you'd be more interested in taking advantage of the... _privacy_ afforded by our new flat," she said in a prim tone.

"Ah, well..." Ron looked a little embarrassed at this. "I didn't want you to think that just because we lived together I'd expect to, you know, every night," he explained sheepishly.

"Well, I don't!" she replied, blushing a bit herself. "Think that you expect it, that is. But you don't have to... hold yourself back, either." She blew out a puff of air. "I just want us to be ourselves, and not act so nervous around each other," she said, looking up at him. "It's been kind of weird, hasn't it?"

"Yeah, reckon it has," Ron replied, looking relieved that she felt the same way. "I just really didn't want to cock this up, you know? This whole living together thing."

"I'm sure we _will_ mess up at this sometimes. But it's what I want, more than anything. And I think we can do it."

"Me too. And so do I," he grinned.

"OK. So that's the plan. We just be ourselves and deal with the issues when they come," she affirmed determinedly. She had always felt better with a plan. Her lips curved up into a smile. "I can't deny that I like a tidy flat, but I think I'd like living with _my_ Ron Weasley more."

Ron laughed. "I'm _so_ going to remember you said that," he warned, reaching down and pulled a sock off his foot. "How's that, then?" he asked, flinging it across the room.

"I'd call that a good start," she laughed.

Still grinning, he leaned down until his long nose brushed hers. He cupped the back of her head in his large hand and threaded his fingers through her hair. "And this?" he asked, his voice low. Her eyes slid shut as he captured her lips in a slow, deep kiss. She smiled against his lips as he lowered them to the living room floor, realizing they were going to save the cleaning up for later.

 _Much_ later.


End file.
